there's a bow in your pretty blonde hair and a body in the trunk of your daddy's 1963 cherry red corvette that you definitely shouldn't be driving. you're smoking your last cigarette, your mary jane's clicking distinctly, browsing through the gardening section wondering what mulch is best for hiding your dirty little secrets. "tell me how such wicked things can look so darn lovely," and you simply answer, "oh, monsieur. don't you know that the devil was once god's favourite?"

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